Waking Up
by Atarashila
Summary: This is just a small attempt at writting the first experiances Solas has when he awakens.


Disclaimer : This is just a snippet I tasked myself to write about what Solas first experienced and expressed upon waking up. I do not own this character (I just role play him sometimes); he is from Patrick Weekes, and Bioware's - Dragon Age Inquisition.

 _Fade way to the wicked world we left_

 _and I become the dark of you._

 _Say a prayer for the wounded heart within_

 _as I become the dark of you._

 _Let Go._

 _When all has come to life_

 _we live, we breathe, we die._

 _They call me to the light,_

 _forever lost in time._

 _~Song: The Dark of You_

 _~Breaking Benjamin_

With the sound of thunder rang loudly in his ears, his grey eyes snapped open. A sudden pain struck in his chest and spread rapidly through every fiber of his being. It felt as though his blood boiled with hot magma and scorched its path all the down each microscopic blood vessel in his physical form. He had not recollected since he started to holler, but somehow he knew that the foreign voice filling the darkness with its pain-stricken agony was his own.

Darkness. There was nothing more challenging than the empty dark. The silent, empty darkness; with only one's own thoughts left to ponder into nothingness. No light to ease the fears. No one to hold or confide in. What greatness he knew, what expectations he had; it had all faded away. Swallowed up by the empty, everlasting, abys. It was clear that he was alone with nothing but pain to console him. This had been it. The worst fear; dying alone. Carrying all that he knew of his people and failing to keep the truth remembered. Such a fear for any race would be terrifying. Not just because of his death, but the failure and extinction that was carried with it.

Something touched his face and he was startled; twisting his head away and shifting his hollering more into screaming. He screamed from the pain pulsing through his sunken form. He screamed to hopefully scare away whatever it was that touched his face. He screamed because it was the only voice he could hear and he feared if he didn't hear anything that he would lose his mind next. The thunder echoed from deep in his ears, past his own voice; as though it was more heard from within his own mind. His arms moved, frightening himself more until his hands trailed down his shoulders and his arms to finally realize that there was nothing there. What had been touching him was only his own hands.

He traced his hands back over his face once more to feel the scars of the vallaslin. It felt foreign to him as well. Solas traced the patterns of the tree; envisioning its shape that stretched all across his forehead. Memories flooded his mind as fast as his racing pulse pushed the fiery blood in his veins. He gritted his teeth as tears streamed down his face; enduring the flashes of images. The Evanerus. The All-Father burning the brand of his wife on Solas. Then he remembered the voice of Mythal, asking him to come.

That's right. She wanted him here. She called to him from beyond the Fade and forced his blood to rush. She forced the air into his lungs and pulled him with her magic-pulled him into the physical and solid form that was his body. Unfortunate that it was against the will of the All-Father, Elgar'nan. Unfortunate that Mythal could never ease the suffering of going against her own religion's commands. Unfortunate that there was no other way her will could be done and so again the Dread Wolf must rebel.

That made more sense to everything, and it calmed his thoughts a little. The pain and the darkness was from his own tomb. He was cursed to serve Mythal in this manner. Because no one could kill him, he was sentenced to sleep-and because a calling that was faded from time, forced him against the unconscious command -and against his own wishes-his body reacted to the insubordination with pain. Of course this also proved another point. He was not dead or stumbled in his path to have suddenly been locked away in some other part of the Fade. Solas was still very much alive after the huge explosion that destroyed everything he knew and held dear; after centuries upon centuries of searching the Fade and feeding his thirst for what knowledge he could acquire in dreams.

Solas tried to focus on the spell to remove the markings from his face. He had to pull the energies from memory and do the spell he knew well to remove the markings. He could hear and feel his own flesh becoming to burn. The sickening tang of seared skin filled his nostrils just as the sting of forced rejection hurt his face. He had not done the spell in a long time, so it was not a perfected cast. Though when he felt the soothing after effects cool against his skin, the feeling of molten magma pushing hot through his veins quickly began to subside. The pain was finally going away.

Rivers of tears streamed down the sides of his face then. He felt reborn. Clean. It was just as he had given the same feeling to other slaves from so long ago. Solas was free from the influence of another and he was alive. The air -though dusty- smelled in some way sweeter and he felt cool to the touch. Despite how much he screamed and wept moments ago, now he was laughing from the bubbled joy that mixed with that sorrow.

"Mythal..." He mumbled. His voice raw and dry from disuse. He started to wipe away the tears, and smearing away what he could only assume was blood from his forehead. "...Ir abelas."

Even after so long, Solas was still rebelling against the will of the Evanerus and this time he wasn't even trying that hard. His only true regret in doing so was that it was just as much a disservice to Mythal as it was a service in contrast to The People. It would not matter how much he apologized to her. In this awakening, he was to become her vengeance and salvation against the world. This was because the damage he had done was too great and he knew that.

He sighed then; for a moment just relaxing and preparing his body to move. Everything still felt sore and so very weak. He didn't need light within this tomb to know that his body was probably malnourished and lacking muscle. The sickening feeling of nausea churned and tumbled within his stomach; reminding him of the hunger for food. He felt as though he could consume the quantities of a dragon's feast, but the nausea settling so strongly in him would quickly disagree what his mind fantasized.

As weak and tired that he was, Solas knew it would take everything in his concentration to attempt in sitting up. He took another sigh, trying this time to concentrate on his hearing. There was nothing to answer him but the lingering thunder that echoed still in his mind. No direct path that even his sensitive senses could detect at the moment; because they were stripped raw.

His muscles were slow to move. He could feel ligaments shifting and threatening to twist and pull if Solas did not move slow enough. The struggle against gravity was more of a challenge than he remembered as well. He pressed weight against his wrists and tried to use them for balance. His head was spinning the further that he rose but he pushed onward. He pushed and hissed from each movement until at last, he sat up.


End file.
